wb :

The old bells of the city
Are the ones that ring the softest,
Yet the clearest through the air,
The autumn air.

 Their sighing comes to me across the branches,
Echoes off the ivy-scattered bricks,
And wakes me from the beating of my feet upon the road,
The stony road.

O Titan bells of muted bronze,
Release me, if you would, from out your gentle grip,
For vespers leaves us with the shivers of the air,
The autumn air.